


John Reborn

by Grex



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan) RPF, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Iron Man (Movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Female John Watson, Multiple Personalities
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 21:52:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4893667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grex/pseuds/Grex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All my lives were separate, unconnected without remembering each-other. I am Clary Watson, I remember every birth, every death, and every moment leading up to them. I am all of them, but none are me. Potter/Marvel/Batman/Sherlock</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First I should say something, I am a horrible person. Two reasons, 1. This story is really just a place to store a fic Idea so if you don't want to want a reaaaally long time in-between updates don't read it. 2. I am supposed to be writing for my other story Grex, so I apologize for that as well.
> 
> Now with this story,
> 
> I was unsure about whether or not to make this a crossover (because it technically is) or to leave it in the Sherlock stuff. So oops :D
> 
> I don't own any of the original plots from the things I am taking from.

John Reborn I began my lives as Harry Potter, abused Savior of the Wizarding World; it was in this life that I acquired the curse 'Master of Death'. I lived a good full life, married Ginny my longtime girl-friend directly after our war. We had three wonderful children. I died the day after Ginny at the age of 143.

My magical control as Harriet Black-Potter was zilch. I couldn't even hold on too a wand properly, or at least not without my core trying to destroy it. As such I failed every class except Potions and DADA. (Snape was trilled). In my fifth year at Hogwarts I was lured to the Department of Mysteries under the pretense that my only family, my God-Father, was there being tortured. That night I ended up destroying even god forsaken prophesy in the Ministry after Bellatrix killed him. Needless to say she lives no longer. In my seventh year I was abandoned by my school-mates and spent every moment in the Library trying to find the reason my core malfunction. Granger was ignoring my existence as was Weasley. In fact the only person to not find my presence intolerable was my Luna. (And Snape surprisingly. Though that was most likely pity.)

At the end of the year Riddle attacked the school. He had sent his Eaters of Death to kill or capture the student population, but unfortunately for him the moment he stepped on Hogwarts grounds he was vaporized (oops). I died a quick painless (ish) death in a small town in Sweden a year into my lonely hermitage after the Battle of Hogwarts. An Eater of Death sniped me in the back; I turned his heart to stone. Sounds even to me.

Life as Tony Stark was painful, practically abandoned by my parents, brought up by the man who later betrayed me, and I later discovered had my parent arranged to be killed. I was continually fighting for causes no one really believed in my entire life. I married Pepper Potts, never had the time to have kids (wouldn't have known what to do with 'em anyhow). All of the members of my team were either dead or no longer wanting to fight for lost causes by the time I started getting Dementia. Pepper died soon after I forgot her. Rodey, one of my only friends in the universe, pulled my life-support (crying) after my lung collapsed.

I was Sargent Grey Wemp stationed in Afghanistan. I was a military brat, born and raised to serve my country. I was 24 when I met Mr. Stark, the man who's weapons had saved my father and brother, not to mention the genius who's gun design I had cradled. I died, shot in the heart, 27 minutes after I met him, protecting this man.

As Bruce Wayne my story was... shit. Parents shot in front of me. Tried my hand at revenge, got there 30 seconds too late to kill the man. I trained with a man I grew to view as my father, only to betray and be betrayed after learning his true goals. I served as Batman protector of Gotham and eventually the world, until my death as Bruce Wayne, by Joker who was taunting Batman to come out of hiding. (And he wondered why I died smiling)

I was Alice Pleasance. I worked with (my friend), Jervis Tetch, in Nano-Neuro-Technology until he was driven insane. I died at 23 years old, assaulted and killed by the man known as the Mad-Hatter.

John Watson was an average and unfortunately dull creature for the majority of my life. My father was an alcoholic who beat both me and my sister Harry. We each had different coping methods, she turned to drink and I went away to the military. 'Captain' Watson I was. I was shot while securing a man's leg that had been blown off. Sent home, unable to serve, I met Sherlock Holmes. He was an oddball who solved violent crimes for fun. He jumped off a roof after the world accused him of being a fake. Sherlock was my only friend. I killed myself on his grave. All these lives were separate, unconnected without remembering each-other.

I am Clary Watson, I remember every birth, every death, and every moment leading up to them. I am all of them, but none are me.

 

_**JnRbrn** _

* * *

 

Bruce- **Batman**  bolded

Tony-  _IronMan_  Italics

Grey- _Sarge_  Italics and Underlined

Alice- AP Wonderland

Harry- HP Potter

Harriet- Magic Underlined

* * *

Now, reasoning on why Clary is the way she is. All the lives shes lived are all in her head so when she was born all the personalities put all their knowledge into her, creating Clary. She is not just all the lives play thing however, she has her own soul, if you will, her own mind. So she'll way mature for any age, she was 143. :) 'Course she's also got Stark in her head so maybe it'll even out.

* * *

I was born screaming. Memory of lives I had not placed in the correct spots ground against each other. Pain circumvented every crevasse of my small mind. Pain laced every cry from my infant lips. Suddenly everything clicked, my tears stopped and only watery tracks remained.

Gruff hands lifted me from the warm cocoon of blankets. John's memories of these hands and pain are crushed by the mantra, "Do not show your enemy your fear."

A small voice calls for attention, "Daddy, I wanna see her!"

"Harriet, not now!"

I am blind to the world cannot see to confirm in who's hands I am cradled in.

"What are you naming her, Mr. Watson?" asked a small fluttery female voice.

A deeps bass answers, "Clary Hamish Watson. Is't what Janey would 'av wanted." His voice wavered wildly.

So that's why he hated John. We killed mother.

The gruff man laid me back in the cradle of warm and left. The tension in the air disappeared along with his presence.

"You're a strange one you are." The nurse tells me.

* * *

Gruff-Hands bought me to a familiar place after 28 days of confirmation that my optic nerves have some sort of block in them. The doctors had to disinfect my eyes for an unknown bacterial infection. At least that's what Gruff-Hands and the doctors are blaming for my 'freakish' eyes (Gruff-Hands words not mine)

I was for all purposes blind. Harry, from the first time she saw me whispered how beautiful they were, my eyes. In the 12 days that I've been here, she has told me how they change. They've gone from the Watson blue to Grey's ironic grey then to Bruce's black. Gruff-Hands called them 'Devil Eyes' Harry ruined Bruce's man moment by saying they were pretty. (He was sulking for  **days** )

Harry tells me today that my eyes have turned a "yummy brown" color (Tony). "Like chocolate!" she exclaims while tickling my sides. I just need the Potters' killer green and I'll have all the pretty colors.

3 months

Gruff-Hands doesn't seem to like me anymore than he liked John. He yells profanities that even Tony is interested (horrified) to learn. Harry hovers over me afterward; she always cries after he leaves.

6 Months

At six months old I can finally relate to Dare-Devil of all people.

_Poor Guy_

He always said he could "'See' the Sounds"

_And I thought he was 'Loki'_

AP Not funny!

_Sorry blondie_

Hey!

I can see peoples souls.

**Aura, It's called an aura.**

_What he said; sounds less creepy!_

It's like magical cores, only on Muggles.

Harry's is a nice forestey green with gold sparks when she laughs and blue when she cries. Gruff-Hands has a strange mucusey yellow orange. He occasionally has patches of a dark blue when he is somewhat less drunk.

Harry said my eyes have been green all month.

7 Months

I'm going to kill him.

Harry's aura has more splotches of red than I've even seen on her before. The majority are placed around her head area, her torso and her back like she curled into a ball while being kicked. Nothing has a internal bleeding red through just varying shades of the lighter red.

So Gruff-Hands wasn't as drunk as he could have been.

Small tears land on me from what I know are sad sky blue eyes. The red circling, what I assume is an eye, grows larger and a slightly darker shade of red. Harry rocks me back and forth slowly humming a lullaby she remembers from her Mum.

I don't know it but my eyes swirls into a kaleidoscope of angry colors as I think of all the different ways to kill James Watson.

"Daddy apologized this time; said he didn't mean to. He's going to get ice-cream right now!"

If my mouth would form comprehensible words I would tell her that her father is  **not**  getting ice-cream. That he was probably going to get more clobbered to forget what he'd done to Harry. I wasn't forgetting, not  **ever**.

Harry slides a rubber teat between my lips and I suck at it greedily, father forgot to feed me today.

12 Months

I can toddle around the house with Harry leading me around obstacles. She was trying to convince Gruff-Hands to get me a seeing eye dog, but we both know it probably won't happen as Harry learned they were very expensive.

If I was to ever get a dog I could force my magic to 'see' through the dog. But as Brucey had training for the whole 'fight blindfolded' he was showing me how to survive. Tony was busy trying to overpass the nerve with a possible replacement eye.

_Contacts, I got an Idea for CONTACTS!_

4 years

I am four years of age before I can convince a Viviparous Lizard to stay on my shoulder. Surprisingly Lizard dialect is only slightly differing from Parseltongue. I only scare off a few before they realize I'm not going to eat them. The male I've acquired is a youngling recently big enough to be viewed as not-eggling. He says as long as he can have a ride I can use his eyes. I slowly push my magic toward the small bit of light orange on my shoulder.

The world is bright and colorful not quite as bright as my memories but still, I can see.

_Kid, breath._

**Find the computer**

*Go on my head pleassssse* I hiss to my friend. I want to be able to turn my head and see. The tiny claws find purchase in the frizz of my ponytail. The colors surrounding me are vibrant blues and greens spread across the walls of Harry and I's room. The red of my 'cute' sweater looks more like dried blood.

AP I think its darling.

_Like you've bathed in the blood of your enemies._

My nose crinkles. That is gross!

**Laptop**

I can hear the man's wet wheezing in the room with squishy seats. The thin (If you aren't a computer genius) gray box that held within its depths, connections. Both the simplicities of the early internet and the very hackable British government opens before my poor-light-abused-lizard-eyes. I know the only reason he, Gruff-Hands, left the (work) laptop within the grasps of a 4 year old is that he is stoned as all hell, but it's the little things in a life.

I looked for the Holmes'es first (He was my only friend) but they lived outside London.

Another time.

_Moriarty then._

Surprisingly something nearby shows on the poorly graphicted screen.

Ooh look there's a park nearby.

_We can have the playdate there!_

**Shh!**

_Yes sir._

I shut down what should be an untraceable hack into the government's system.

_Good job, kiddo!_

'I would hope so. I was  **you** ; I would take horrible offense if it  **wasn't**  good!'

Some of my lives have left my head. Harry went onto the greener pastures of the afterlife to see his family. Alice went to wait, probably in Hell, for Jervis so she can kill him again. Bruce is considering leaving to see Rachael, Alfred, and his parents but decided to wait until I know what I'm doing. Grey and Harriet don't have anyone they want to go back to, and Huffelpuffs are fiercely loyal besides.

John argues that James, Lily, and Sirius will miss her but we all argued that they have waited all this time, a little longer won't hurt them (they're dead). John merely wants to live without having to kill ourselves again. Tony's only argument was that Pepper was used to waiting for him, he'll go when he's bored.

I meticulously clear the computer of any sign I've been there, as pure Bruce's instructions. I flee the room, leaving my drunkard of a caretaker in a puddle of his drool and vomit. (His nose was out. He won't die now... probably)

"Harry!" I whisper shout as I run silently along memorized paths (Batman skills, I'm also really good with capes) through the house, just to be sure that she won't crash my party. She should be at a friend's house, some girl she met at school, and is supposed to be back at seven but its always a good idea to check.

I scrawl a quick note as badly as I would do blind. It reads,

Harry m gon tu the pak arond the conr.

-Clary

I stick it as far up the door to our room as I can so she'll find it before leaving the building.

**JnRbrn**

* * *

 


	2. A Game?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meets Mor-Mor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again, hope I didn't keep any of ya'll waiting too long.
> 
> Oh by the way, if I did own Sherlock or any of the other universes mentioned they would be waaaaay to confusing for any normal mind to try and make sense of. Including myself in that description. Don't you go and take offense now.
> 
> So, no, I do not own anything other than myself, don't watch the Matrix.

Bruce- **Batman**  bolded

Tony-  _IronMan_  Italics

Grey- _Sarge_  Italics and Underlined

Harriet- Magic Underlined

John-  _ **Watson**_  Bold and Italicized

Harry-HP

Alice-AP

* * *

 

_**JnRbrn** _

I hope I guessed his age right.

_I don't really want to have to befriend Mycroft._

**_No not really, that man scares_ , _scared, me sometimes._**

**But it _is_  agreed that we go to Mycroft if Sherlock and Moriarty don't work.**

Yes. We mutter.

I run the four long blocks to the park. I change my features to a young Alice with every step I take forward. Just because I need to be old enough to be out on my own (or at least old enough people won't question it quite as much) so I add a few inches to my spine and limbs.

 **Run it faster when you go back**.

A soft sky blue shape with dark flecks is hunched over close to the ground. (Not dieing or anything traumatic, otherwise it would be a reddish color.) Shifting the small lizard in my hair to a spot where I can see and it won't be seen, under a curl, I touch my magic again to it's mind. An older woman is watering her small patch of petunias.

HP Hate those things

"Hello mame?" I put on my best 'Pepper, I swear I went to bed!' face.

The woman turns holding the plastic can. Her lined face is surrounded by a small contained white halo.

"Oh Hello?!" I force myself to blush, Harry says it is the 'cutest thing ever!"

"Um, my sister and I are new here, but I was wondering if there were any kids my age to play with?"

"And who are you child?"

"Alice Pleasance. I'm six!" I hold up five fingers and fiddle with my index as if I'm confused if it goes up or not. She smiles and starts to list off names of children nearby.

"Well there's little Sally Dohnavan and Carl Powers down the block, although they might be a little bit old for you, their eight." I wouldn't play with either of them anyway, one's a bitch and the other might die in a couple years. "Oh and then there's the Moriarty boy, James I think his name is, just turned five." She looks thoughtful before nodding and looking down at me.

"Do you have any kids mame?" I ask, blue eyes shining angelically through my mass of blond curls. The woman blushes slightly then responded, "Yes I have a grandson Philip, and please call me Mrs. Anderson."

"But Philip is much too old for you, he's nearly eleven."

**My god this woman is trying to set up a five year old!**

**_More Blackmail!_ **

"And where do the Moriarty's live then?" I ask. She points behind us to a small grey-blue house.

"Just across the street dear."

I turn to leave and suddenly flip around waving wildly. "Bye-bye Mrs. Anderson! Thank you!"

I dash across the street; pulling the hazardous magic from the Lizard.

HP Don't want to fry the poor thing.

I blindly knock on the rough wood of the door. Then haphazardly feel around for the doorbell; cracked plastic meets the fleshy tips of my fingertips. I press with all my minuscule four year strength on the circle. A soft 'dong' filters through the door. The call of "Mum there's someone at the door!" It's a young male voice, the younger Moriarty I assume.

_You know what assuming makes you? An a-_

Stark!

_Party Pooper._

Soft thumps of feet pad up to the door before a whoosh of air brushes my corkscrew hair into my eyes. An orangish blob of person stands in front of me. The height of said blob was just taller than the Potters'.

_So REALLLLLY short!_

HP Hey!

_Kid we were all short, excepting Bruce of course, don't take offense._

A familiarly drink slurred voice testily grumbles above my head (faaaar above) and states, "I don't want to buy w'ateva i' is you're…" I can feel her gaze finally drift down to me as she looks me over. "Oh. W'at do ya w'nt kid?"

I shift my weight trying to appear nervous. I pull a Quirrel and begin to stutter pathetically, "Co-could I t-t-talk to J-James? M-Mrs. Anderson s-said he was old enough t-to p-p-play with me."

"James!" she barks, the words going into the house. A small grey blur pops it's head around a wall.

"Yes mother?" it responds politely.

*I wisssshh to sssssee pleasssse*

A small sandy blonde boy has his head popped around a short woman. Her mid length dark brown hair was a frizzy tangled mess with a cotton candy consistency tied back in a spotted pink hairband. Thin lips frown at the boy and nudge (shove) him out of the door frame.

Reminds me of Petunia. Harriet growls.A really short Petunia.

"This young lady wants to play with you. It's two right now come back at six ish."

And with that the door slammed in our impressionable young faces. A strong breeze blows his longish hair into dark eyes. The hair is choppy like he had to cut it himself.

_**Probably had to, with the way his parents are.** _

**ent, singular not plural.**

_In any case for a five year old he did pretty well._

Mori-James looks at me boredly, his near black eyes seem to bore straight through me. It's not until I pull away from sight for… my colors, that I see the curiosity and excitement pouring off him in waves of blue and silver light.

"What do you wanna play?" he asks slowly not at all like the crazed man I knew. My eyes widen when I realize that none of my lives had I ever gotten to play as a young child. Really only Brucey and that was closer to eight. And even he only played with Rachel. The Potters weren't allowed friends till Hogwarts and Malfoy blew it even there for Harriet. Tony was always more interested in designing JARVIS than socializing with human beings. Grey traveled to much as an army brat (as Tony so lovingly calls him) to make any long lasting relationships. He wasn't even very good at talking to people normally. Alice was home-schooled and John was very shy until the army. And if I wanted even a small chance of living into my thirties, any relationship needed to last. We had noooo idea what we were going to do with this kid.

I started rambling out games that we had heard other kids talking (taunting) about, "Tag, catch, 20 Questions, darts, Hide 'n go Seek," Tony's on a roll now, "Cards, hopscotch, chess, um, Checkers!?"

James' aura is back to the strange grey color.

No one else has that color. No one has grey.

He sounds amused at my antics and teases me, "You don't play very often do you?"

This time the blush that I feel on Alice's cherub cheeks is completely sincere. "You'd be the first. Was it really that obvious?"

He nods and any of the bored persona is abandoned for a childish laugh. Every action the boy- James makes only serves to cause me more confusion. He acts just enough similar to the Moriarty John knows/knew that it's hard to differentiate between the two. Their mannerisms are the same as is the way he moves his hands while talking. Even in childrens' rags he has a way of walking that is distinctly… off.

I sigh, slumping dejectedly, "What do you want to play?"

"Truth or Dare?" was the innocent reply.

_Hm well, we're gonna die._

**We can always kill him.**

_Brucey, did you join the darkside?_

**We'll discuss this later.**  He growls.

"Sure!" I say excitedly, even with Bruce's downer moment I'm still stoked to meet a maybe friend. My first friend.

"Truth or dare?" he asks while walking away down the street. I trot after him. His odd stretching bouncing step too long for even my 6 year old legs.

"Truth."

_**The Game Begins.** _

Oh and thank you so much to the people who have Favorited this. It really does wonders for the writing process when you're not depressed.


	3. Chapter 3

Bruce- **Batman bolded**  
Tony- _IronMan Italics_  
Grey- _Sarge Italics and Underlined_  
Harriet-  Magic Underlined  
John- _**Watson Bold and Italicized**_

I think about it, my favorite color, and realize that every color I can think of has been bastardized by Bruce's’ memories of The Rogues and their color schemes. I mean just in that group you get an almost rainbow; and then you add all the wanna-be Rogues and vaw-la you have yourself a palette of colors. Not exactly conducive to finding a favorite color. 

Black is not a color Bruce.

Slowly I say, “I don’t have one.” The boys’ glow stops suddenly and I nearly plow him over, height difference or not.

“But… everyone has a favorite color!”

“Well black isn't a color now is it?! Otherwise I would!

The grey glow sparks light blue, confused his voice asks, “Black’s not a color?”

“No, neither is white or grey.”

“Hm, your turn.” and the blob keeps walking it’s quick pace down the street.

“Truth or Dare?” I ask in accordance to these newfound rules.

_ Rules, ppf. Who uses those? _

_ The average population, Stark. _

_ Well... they’re boring. _

“Truth.” his voice whispers by my ear.

**_So, he has no concept of personal space either._ **

I flap around and push his shoulders a few inches away from me.

“Where are we going?”

The blob seems to point it’s arm forward and to the left slightly. His voice, amused seems to mock me, “Clary, you can’t see the park?”

I shake my head hoping Moriarty won’t try to finagle an answer out of me, or mock me. I’m not sure which would be worse. I have enough of Gruff-Hands yelling at me; telling me that I’m a useless waste of life that Mother would have hated. That one  **hurt** . Bruce wanted me to break his shins while Harriet set him on fire; John had to talk them, and me, out of it.

A quick breeze brushes pushes past my face. The smell of cigarettes and alcohol follows it. I sigh, “You just waved your hand in front of me didn’t you?”

A sheepish, “Maybe.” 

We stop and he asks, “Do I need to hold your hand?” If anyone else had asked that I probably would have punched them, including Harry, but I needed him if I was going to have a chance at life. (A real life this time, no superheroing, no army. It is going to be fantastic.) And his voice held no concern nor even a little teasing, which I was expecting from him, that was a welcome surprise.

“It… would be appreciated, yes.”

He took hold off my fingers in a light hold. James’ fingers were warm and long, not at all the cold brutal fingers John remembers. 

**It’s summer, it would be difficult for his hands to become cold.**

_ That was a… you know what never mind! _

 

I smile at the area where the blobs’ face would be. I know I had no chance of hitting eye contact and so was probably creeping the young boy out. Although Harry said it was unnerving how when I looked at anything; it was as if I was actually seeing it.

A few sparks of yellow happiness flicker across the grey. 

_ Maybe he isn’t a sociopath? _

**His emotions don’t last as long as other people’s do. Don’t get your hopes up.**

He pulled me forward lightly. “It’s your turn.” I remind him. He sighs and his grey begins to radiate waves of light blue.

_ Is that the plotting color? _

 

“Truth or Dare?” a monotone voice asks.

“Truth.” I respond, wanting to play it safe for one more go-round.

“Why do you hide it?”

“Hide what?” I cheekily ask; vainly hoping the boy will leave off. Of course it’s Moriarty, if he’s anything like Sherlock then he’s going to be obscenely stubborn. He just huffs and tightens the grip of his finger around my wrist. Not enough to bruise, but enough to show that he wasn’t happy or going to play our game until I answered.

Playing it safe just failed.

**If it goes down hill just push him in front of a car.**

That… is disturbing.

I sigh unhappily, “I don’t want people to treat me differently. That’s all.”

The dark blue confusion causes his vice grip to loosen back to the loose handing holding of before. “Why-” 

I interject quickly, “Nope! It’s my turn! Truth or Dare?”

“Dare.” he growls, clearly still peeved with my impudence at not answering his question.

“I dare you…, the next time you see someone, to do a somersault, pop up and scream ‘Ta-Dah I’m Fabulous!’”

He sighs, “Fine.”

He stops suddenly and pushes down on my shoulders. I yelp when I collapse under the unexpected weight. I land heavily on a splintery wooden plank. 

**Bench, he wanted you to sit.**

“You could just ask, you know.”

“Oh.”

We sit in silence listening to the small amount of car traffic. His slow breathing is peaceful and not even Tony had anything to say. That’s a rare and much valued thing.

_ Ow _ .

_ Oh come oh you know you like to talk. _

_ Silence is boring. _

“Truth or Dare?” asks a soft voice.

“Dare.” 

No need to give him a reason to dislike me for unevenness.

**No, he will dislike you because you sidestepped a question he wanted answered.**

Bruce's’ guess is correct. J-Moriarty’s grey sparks black, but he doesn't react physically. Not even shifting on the bench. 

**_He has quite a handle on control for a five year old._ **

_ It’s weird how he can just  _ **_contain_ ** _ it. Maybe that’s why he’s so messed up as an adult. _

“Dare you to… sing the ABC’s... backwards.”

This unsurprisingly was one of Tony’s/my many talents when drunk, or more often later in life with a concussion, he, being the genius that we are, can act completely sober. And to prove this Rodey forced us to record us/him singing it. (Apparently this is a test they, the police, use to guess if you’re too drunk to drive or whatever.) 

_ JARVIS drives!... drove. I didn’t need too! _

“Zyxwvutsrqponmlkjihgfedcba.”

After I sing the horrible off key song I belatedly realize that most children my age can’t count to ten let alone sing the ABC’s. 

**_Bugger_ ** .

_ Maybe he won’t notice? _

“How the bloody hell did you do that?!” his childish voice squeaks in my ear. I bat him away from my face, but he pulls me to his side. My short frame is tucked into armpit, I think. And it is entirely to warm to be here.

And a smidge awkward.

“Um, just a good memory I suppose.” my voice comes out more as a question than a statement.

“Oh we’ll be bestest of friends, you and me!” comes the excitable boy squished into me.

_ Well step one accomplished. Now what? _

“Shit” is the only thing I can say, “Well I hope we don’t die this time.”

 

15 minutes later

“Well if you’d been listening to the traffic two streets away, where’s the nearest taxi?”

“Um,” and I point slightly to the right of our spot on the bench, “that way. It’s stopped on the corner a block from here.”

A small bulb of yellow bubbles up from the grey blobs chest at my answer. “And how’d you know that?”

“Taxis are almost always in the worst condition, whether or not the car is decrepit, and this one is, so I listen for the loudest car. Normally it stutters when stopping or starting which helps considerably in narrowing down the numbers. Then we are in London, it’s just a safe guess that since around 60% of the vehicles are taxis or buses, it’ll be a taxi.”

“So you just took a guess?!” cames the shocked question.

I nod and more bubbles float around James chest. The already tight grip that he’s had me in for the last fifteen minutes somehow gets tighter.

**Jab his side.**

She can’t her arms are pinned down.

_ You know, yesterday if someone was this touchy, she would have nailed ‘em. _

_ Someone's got a cru-ush! _

Stop taunting her! She needs to get out more!

Footsteps come up from behind me before a force hits the back of my head. Red over takes my mind.

“So bitty freak found a bitty blond to play with?” the voice is young and snide, but I can’t turn to look at the boy to see what his colors are because James has me too tightly crushed to his ribs.

**How does a little kid have this much muscle?**

“Why don’t you let her go freak? She probably don’t wanna be near you, freak.”

I squirm pushing against Moriarty; it really is an uncomfortable position to be squished into, he’s rather skinny.

Dark blue spreads through him as he lets me go. I turn to the boy behind us, he’s a light red color but not any injuries except for his right knee and palms.

_ Probably fell. _

I smile at the face blob when I stand next to him, a pleased yellow passes through him. 

“What’s your name?” I ask

“Carl, Carl Powers.” comes the smug reply.

And then I kick his… crotch. He bends over gasping, so I take the opportunity to elbow his face.

“Don’t call him a freak.”

I turn back to James with a sheepish smile. “Sorry, but I had to lie to get close enough to hit him. I don’t like the name  _ freak _ .”

a long pause and the Blue slowly fades to Grey. “That was bloody spectacular! How’d you learn to do that?!”

I hold a finger to my lips and whisper, “Secret. If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

 

And that, is how I became best-friends with the Future Consulting Criminal.

 

_ Aww Brucey, you’re not gonna be able to kill the kid now. Poor growly Brucey. _

 


End file.
